Page 10 of The Golden Hour

But it’s just her dad walking back inside.

When he sees the expression on her face, he tilts his head, bemused.

“What’s that face for, honeybee?”

Honey puts the smile back on her face.

“Nothing, Daddy,” Honey says, rubbing a hand over her belly. “I’m just tired.”

Tired.

That’s an understatement.

Disappointed.

Yes, but not quite.

Heartbroken.

Yes.

That one.

CHAPTER FOUR

MASON

“Time of death: 3:32.”

Mason practically rips the gown off of him and roughly shoves it into the disposal bin. The nurses move around the room, turning off machines and cleaning up with trained, quiet efficiency.

The itch of irritation crawls up his spine, and he storms from the room before he snaps something he doesn’t mean and will regret. He doesn’t stop until he’s at the charge nurse desk, where he leans both hands against the edge and drops his head to take a few deep breaths.

Nothing clears his frustration. Nothing changes the tide of this fucking day that seems hell-bent on testing him as a physician.

This is his fourth patient who died today.

Four human beings are gone.

He’s confident and capable in his abilities. Always. He knows he’s a good doctor. He knows he can change even the most hopeless cases.

Today death keeps winning.

These days are few and far between, but today is exceptionally bad.

It wasn’t even a day that showed promise.

It started off with him waking up too early after coming home too late.

Honey was already in bed when he got home. He took a quick shower before quietly slipping in next to her, and he was asleep before his head hit the pillow. It felt like no time had passed before he was startled awake by something—a noise, a feeling.

Bleary-eyed, he squinted across their bedroom toward the connected bath, where light streamed through the cracked door.

And then he heard it—Honey retching and then the toilet flushing. His body was moving before his mind was even fully awake, stumbling toward the bathroom and shoving the door open.

“Honey, can you try to keep it down?” he grumbled, rubbing his eyes.

Then he froze completely when he saw her—hunched over the toilet, sweaty with a white-knuckled grip on the porcelain. She looked too pale, her hair flat and limp, her back heaving with her breathing.